"The name is Jarl," he said as he rested a hand on Kluh's shoulder. "And this is our new friend Kluh. We appreciate your assistance."

His eyes scanned the place before coming to rest on the halfling once more. It was a good place to disappear for awhile when they needed a room, but he was leery of favors in this town, especially when he'd just arrived.

"But of course," replies Harafass to Kluh, managing to grimace only slightly, "of course dear friends of dear friends get a drink on the house. Special ones, come to that! There are some prime casks set aside for my very important clients, which Mister Zivelda has insisted I break open."

He gestures to the open doors of the barrel restaurant. "If you'll follow me...?"

Moony glares at Kluh as he insists that he be treated like a king. How impressively cool this Harafass is. He barely flinched at this small time hood. He motions for Kluh to go first and walks behind him, being sure to watch for any sudden moves from him.

The halfling leads you into the barrel-like Grindhouse, where a cacophany of sound greets you as you enter through the swinging front double doors of the establishment. You find yourselves in a big, bustling dining room that's absolutely swarming with dwarves- some dining, some politely sipping tea and others pounding down ale and shots, others darting back and forth between the tables carrying trays laden with sizzling meat and frothing mugs of spirits.

The room boils with conversation and oaths, drowning any chance of speaking with Harafass, much less hearing yourself think.

Making his way purposefully through the ruckus, Harafass guides you across the restaurant melee and up a winding, creaking staircase at the back of the room. You feel it curving as you ascend, and realize that you're making your way up toward the top of the Grindhouse.

After a short climb, Harafass comes to a solid oak door with a copper number "3" stamped into its center. Producing a set of jingling keyring, the halfling selects a large, brass key turning green with age, then inserts it into the door's luck and turns it sharply.

Harafass Whistiggle

"Private room number three, gentlemen, here we are."

Harafass pushes open the door to reveal a warm, inviting with an oaken table and several highback chairs. Dwarven tapestries and the heads of various wild game adorn the walls, and you see that a fire has been lit in the small alcove hearth over in the corner. Sunlight filters into the cozy quarters through a window on the north side of the room, though you note that there seems to be a sturdy-looking lattice of iron bars across the outside of the pane.

Harafass Whistiggle

"Well, then, gentlemen, I'll leave you to your cups and business," says Harafass, bowing with a flourish. "I'll return with your drinks in just a moment."

With that, the halfling turns and scampers back down the stairs, leaving the rest of you alone.

You notice that a slight edge has crept into the old man's voice. He doesn't sound nearly as friendly as he did a moment ago... and his face, like that of a wolf watching its unsuspecting prey, confirms the sentiment.

"I agree," replies Antonin, nodding his head knowingly as he sweeps off his wide-brimmed black felt hat and sets it aside. "Now that there's no more need for deception, I can do away with this ridiculous accent."

The old man lets out a heaving, wracking cough, whose sound bears remarkable similarity to the thrashing of a drowning cat. When he's finally recovered, Antonin looks at Jarl with disdain. "Va-kashna," he says with considerable disgust. "Wretched foreign tongue. It is like being to gargle rocks, talking in that tone."